


an apocalypse or nihilism on your lips

by mulletrichie



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: (they're only like 16/17 though it's not much), Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Best Friends, Gen, M/M, Mild Blood, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 09:36:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20889971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mulletrichie/pseuds/mulletrichie
Summary: Richie levels him with a look. “What else would you call a zombie outbreak?”“My own personal hell.”“Besides that, dipshit.”Eddie squints at him as he paces around Richie’s living room. “Okay, maybe the apocalypse.”





	an apocalypse or nihilism on your lips

**Author's Note:**

> i told myself i wasn't gonna write any fic for this fandom but i keep watching chapter two so here we are
> 
> the title is from [the waves](https://youtu.be/Z44Kp-cYdM4), but this fic was inspired by the doom days album in general and also my compulsive need to write a zombie au for every fandom i'm in

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Eddie’s too busy fumbling for his inhaler to answer for what feels like an eternity. “I _ said _my mom is a fucking zombie!” He uncaps the inhaler and brings it to his mouth, hyperventilating through each dose.

Richie stares at him, blinking through the thick lenses of his glasses. “Your mom’s a zombie?” He shakes his head, hair flopping into his eyes. “She’s the most paranoid person ever, she can't be a fucking zombie!”

Eddie’s still alternating between shakily inhaling the medicine and general panic. “Well she is! I went home today and she tried to eat my _ brain, _Rich. Do you have any idea how sick you can get from eating a human brain? You can catch -”

Richie frowns as he pushes his hair back off his forehead. “No offense Eds, but I think it's a little late for your mom to worry about getting sick.”

“I hate you,” Eddie says around the inhaler.

Richie reaches out, laying a hand over Eddie’s and lowering the inhaler so he can take it from his friend despite Eddie’s best efforts to keep it. “Dude, chill. You're gonna huff the whole thing and the apocalypse just started.”

Eddie glares at him, which is totally ineffective as usual. “First of all, this is prescribed medication, I’m not huffing anything. Also, this isn't the apocalypse.”

Richie levels him with a look. “What else would you call a zombie outbreak?”

“My own personal hell.”

“Besides that, dipshit.”

Eddie squints at him as he paces around Richie’s living room. “Okay, maybe the apocalypse.”

Richie plops onto the couch, spinning the inhaler around in his hand as he thinks. “So what did you come here for? You could've gone to Bill or Stan’s. You miss me that much?” He winks.

Eddie looks like he's about to pop a blood vessel. “No, asshole. We need a plan! I can't go home, and I only have enough pills for three more days with me, not to mention food and water, and I could really use a face mask too because we don't know if this shit spreads through the air or blood or what and frankly I’m not really -”

“Okay, okay, damn.” Richie stands up, tossing the inhaler onto the couch before walking past Eddie to the foyer. “But if you want a plan you should've gone to Bill’s.” He reaches for the front door, but Eddie grabs his wrist.

“Are you crazy? We don't even have anything to defend ourselves with - or first aid!” Before he can start ranting again, Richie runs up to his room. Eddie stands at the front door, tapping his foot nervously, till he hears Richie stomp back down the stairs. “What the fuck is that?”

“It's a baseball bat, dumbass.” Richie holds it up like maybe Eddie just needs a closer look.

Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose. “You're gonna fight zombies with a _ bat? _ Did you listen to literally anything I just said?” He starts pacing again, in little circles around the welcome mat. “We have to figure out how the disease spreads before we start swinging shit at zombies! What about blood splatter? You’ll get infected so fast if you start bashing their brains in like some kind of maniac and pieces of zombie meat fly everywhere.”

Eddie takes a breath, and Richie seizes this rare opportunity to cut in. “Are you done?”

“Actually, no -”

Richie doesn't wait for him to finish, just grabs his wrist and drags him out the door and through the yard to the curb; he barely pauses to check their surroundings before he's sprinting down the street with a complaining Eddie in tow. They make it two blocks before Eddie quits ranting about needing his inhaler and moves on to yelling at Richie to stop.

“What?” Richie says after several laboured breaths. “I swear to god, if you whine about your inhaler one more time I’m -”

Eddie crosses his arms petulantly. “I need it!”

“Don't you have a spare? Where's your other fanny pack?”

“It's at home, idiot.”

Richie pushes his glasses further up his nose. “See, this is why you should keep everything in one fanny pack. Two fanny packs is a safety hazard.”

“Being stuck with your loud ass during the apocalypse is the safety hazard here! You'll probably attract every zombie in a five-mile radius with your trashmouth.” Eddie’s rubbing his temples now, like this conversation is giving him an actual headache. (Even if it is, he has aspirin in his fanny pack, so he's good.)

“You don't even know if -” Richie cuts himself off when he sees Eddie focus on something behind him. “There better not be a fucking zombie behind me.” The sound of low groaning and shuffling feet steadily getting closer tells him there is.

Eddie just bolts, screaming at Richie to follow. Richie isn't particularly interested in seeing what exactly is closing in on them, so he does what he's told and screams along with Eddie as they run because adrenaline is a lot to handle. Also like, the fear of dying. And the fact that his parents might be dead right now just like Mrs. K, not to mention the rest of his friends. Basically, he has a lot of stress to let out. 

Eddie does too, so they're both screaming bloody murder by the time they get into town, which is weird because it doesn't seem like they'd been running that long. They find an alley to hide in, leaning against a dumpster to catch their breath. Or well, Richie leans against the dumpster. Eddie mostly leans on Richie because he doesn't want to touch the trash.

After several minutes, Eddie straightens up and turns to face Richie. “We need an _ actual _ plan.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Fuck you, Watson.” Eddie rolls his eyes. “Seriously, dude, we’re gonna die if we just keep running every time we see a zombie.”

“Or maybe we’ll just get really fit. We could be track stars if the world makes it out of this shit alive.”

Eddie holds his hand up in an aborted karate chop like he always does when he's really annoyed. Richie loves it when he does that. (It's cute, sue him.) “I can't believe life as we know it is ending and you can't even take death by zombies seriously. And the zombies aren't even our only problem! Did you know we’ll only last three weeks without food? And if we don't get water we'll die in three days, did you even think about that? We might as well -”

“Hey, Eds, stop.” Richie pushes off from the dumpster, walking over to put his hands on Eddie’s shoulders. “You don't have to panic yet -”

Eddie looks at him like he's insane. “The apocalypse is the perfect time to panic!”

Fair enough. “Not about food and water! That stuff’s easy to get.”

“We can't go back to my house. What about yours? Do you even know if your parents are okay?”

Richie shrugs, dropping his hands from Eddie’s shoulders. “Dunno. Haven't seen them since this morning. But look around!” He gestures vaguely to everything in their general vicinity. “We're already in town, let's just go shopping.” He points across the street to the pharmacy.

Eddie looks over, then back at Richie. “I don't have any money.”

Richie lets out a laugh, which makes Eddie’s brow furrow. “It's the fucking apocalypse, we’ll just take it. Who's gonna stop us?”

“Zombies, Rich. Zombies will stop us.”

“Maybe, but they don't care if we have money.”

Eddie just nods thoughtfully, because he can't argue with that. Richie raises his eyebrows, waiting for Eddie to process it all. When Eddie moves to stand in the middle of the alley, Richie grabs his bat from where it’s leaning against the dumpster and starts off in the direction of the pharmacy, Eddie following close behind.

Eddie starts talking again, because of fucking course he does. “Look, we seriously need to get some first aid supplies. Even if you manage to fight off zombies with that stupid ass bat, the odds of you not getting hurt are almost zero since you have absolutely no experience with hand to hand combat. And that's not even considering the fact that the zombies want to eat our fucking brains, probably. Plus, even if we just get a scrape or a cut we’ll be even more susceptible to bacteria with all this rot in the air, and a staph infection will be the _ least _of our worries.”

They stop in front of the pharmacy, and Richie swings open the door. “Go for it, Eddie Spaghetti. Steal as much medical shit as your little heart desires!” He sticks an arm out, waiting for Eddie to go ahead.

“Don't call it stealing, it makes it sound bad.” Eddie brushes past Richie, stepping into the pharmacy and heading straight for the first aid aisle. He’s already got an armful of god knows what by the time Richie catches up.

“The apocalypse _ is _bad,” Richie argues, but Eddie ignores him in favour of grabbing even more boxes off the shelves. “Also, this is the lamest pillage in the history of the fucking world. All you have is like, bandaids and shit. Let's at least steal something good.”

Eddie just dumps half a shelf of supplies into Richie’s arms. “Just shut up and hold that. You'll thank me when you're bleeding out.”

“Are you planning on that happening?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “One of us has to be prepared.”

“I'm prepared, you dick.” Richie (very unsuccessfully) struggles to lift up his baseball bat. “I’ll protect you, and you patch me up after. It's the perfect system!”

“Letting yourself get injured is not a system, dumbass. You're just asking to die.”

“Good thing you love me too much to let it happen.”

Eddie huffs. “Just go find a bag to put all this in.”

“Sorry dude, I don't think the pharmacy sells suitcases.” Eddie glares at him, and Richie eats it up. 

Eddie chooses to ignore how unfazed Richie is and just shoves him in the direction of the registers. It takes some maneuvering with his hands full, but Richie manages to get everything into a plastic bag and grab a couple more to bring back for whatever else Eddie has collected in the past three minutes. Which, as it turns out, is a lot.

“You gotta calm down,” he says as he drops the bags onto the floor next to Eddie. “There's no way we're gonna be able to carry all this shit while we’re running from hungry zombies.” 

Eddie pauses, hands freezing in the air halfway to the shelf. “God dammit.”

“What, they out of your favourite brand of gauze?”

Eddie shakes his head, lowering his hands and crossing his arms. He says something completely unintelligible.

Richie leans closer, cupping his ear with his hand and says, “Sorry Dr. K, missed that one,” in his loudest, most obnoxious British accent yet. (And also arguably his worst.)

Eddie shoves Richie away from his face. “I said you're right.” He sounds like somebody just kicked his dog. If he had a dog, that is. He's allergic.

Richie starts hollering the moment it leaves his mouth. “I’m _ right? _Is that what you actually said? Fuck, I hate that there's nobody here to witness this. I need it on the record!”

He doesn't shut up, so Eddie just stuffs what he deems the most essential supplies into one of the plastic bags while Richie yells in the background. It's best to ignore him; attention only encourages his headassery.

But then Richie suddenly goes quiet, and that's probably the most concerning thing Richie’s ever done, so Eddie looks up. “Rich?” Richie doesn't move, just stands there frozen mid-fist pump. Eddie stands up, grabbing the bag and closing the distance between them so he can shake Richie's shoulder. “Hey, Richie? What are you -”

He turns, following Richie’s line of sight, and clamps his mouth shut as the bag slips out of his hand and onto the floor with a sad thump. “Zombies,” Richie says, like Eddie doesn't see them. Eddie just nods, and Richie finally looks at him. “What the fuck do we do now?”

They both stare down the aisle to the front door of the pharmacy, where three zombies are milling around like they're trying to figure out how to get in. Which they probably are. Which is really concerning because the only defense the boys have at the moment is Richie’s baseball bat from when he was 12. And like, some peroxide. Actually, maybe they could just throw that in the zombies’ eyes. Would that even hurt a zombie? Would it burn? Fuck, they really don't know shit about zombies. Eddie was right, not that Richie would ever say it. (Maybe just this once, since Eddie just did the same not even five minutes ago.)

Eddie interrupts Richie’s mental spiral with, “Let's just see if we can find another way out.”

Richie nods absentmindedly. “Okay, yeah, you do that. I'm staying here where I can see them.”

Eddie sighs loudly. “We can't split up, that's suicide. Realistically we probably won't be able to fight them off even with both of us together, but if we're alone we're definitely gonna die and I’d really rather not do that right now.”

Richie spins the bat around in his hands, trying to work out some of his nervous energy. “Well, I’m not moving.”

Eddie starts off on some other spiel about how they need to watch each other’s backs and whatever - which isn't wrong, really, but Richie isn’t super into the idea of letting the zombies out of sight. It's like when there's a spider on your wall; it's always better to know where it is. Except losing zombies would be worse, because spiders don’t try to kill you and eat your brains.

Richie turns to argue with Eddie some more, because that's just what he does (it's Pavlovian at this point), when they're both interrupted by loud bangs from somewhere toward the front of the store. They whip around, and the doorway is clear, no zombies in sight.

“Oh _ fuck, _” Richie breathes.

Eddie’s shaking. “Rich, I - I can’t -” His breathing is speeding up, shallow breaths making it hard to speak.

“C’mon,” Richie says as he picks up his plastic bag and settles his bat onto his shoulder. “We’re finding you an inhaler, then we're getting the fuck out of here.”

Eddie nods and picks up the other bag, then Richie grabs his wrist and leads him over to the counter. Richie drops his bag and hops over it, pulling shit off the shelves at random and yelling out medication names till Eddie identifies the right one. Richie tosses it over so he can use it, then grabs a couple more because who the hell knows if they'll ever make it back here.

Eddie shakes the inhaler, then breathes the medicine in as deeply as he can in his panicked state. Richie shoves the extra inhalers into his bag, swings the bat back onto his shoulder, and joins Eddie on the other side of the counter again. “You good?” Richie asks, like that's not a dumb thing to say to someone having an asthma attack in the middle of the apocalypse. Or well, the beginning of the apocalypse, but it's not like that matters. It's still the goddamn apocalypse.

Eddie nods unconvincingly. “Never been better.” He coughs into his elbow a couple times. “Can we please leave before we get eaten by walking infections?”

Richie doesn't say anything, just starts walking to the front of the store, handing Eddie his bag so he can grip his bat with both hands. “Stay behind me, Eds.”

Eddie holds onto the back of Richie’s shirt with his hand that isn't holding the bags. It's weirdly grounding. “Don't worry, I'm not gonna argue with you on this one. I would much rather not have to get within ten feet of a zombie if I don't have to.”

Richie rolls his eyes fondly. “You know that's kind of unavoidable, right?”

Eddie shakes his head. “Not as long as I have you.”

“Oh, so the ‘I protect you, you patch me up’ plan is looking good now, isn't it?”

“No, it's more like ‘using Richie as a human shield till we get a real plan.’”

Richie puts a hand to his chest like a scandalized southern belle. “I'm hurt, really, Eds. Is that all I am to you? A barrier for disease?”

Eddie shoves him half heartedly with the hand that's still holding onto his shirt. “Shut up, dumbass, and look out for zombies.”

They've almost made it to the entrance, so honestly they should be seeing some action right about now. Except the zombies are nowhere to be found, so Richie stops a few feet before the door. Eddie nearly runs into his back as Richie whips around to face him. “Hey, don't you think it's weird that -”

There's a ding as the door opens, and the colour drains from Richie’s face as Eddie tries to peer over his shoulder (which is hard, because Richie’s just had another growth spurt). Richie turns around slowly, moving off to the left so Eddie can see too, but Richie’s still guarding him with the bat. 

Their mouths drop open when they realize it's Bill and Stan standing in the doorway, covered in a concerning amount of blood splatter. Bill’s holding a chain that looks heavy as shit, and Stan has a giant kitchen knife in his hand. The chain and knife are drenched in blood, too. It's all so confusing and unsettling that Richie hardly knows how to process it. Eddie processes it the same way he processes everything else: panic.

“Oh my god, what the _ fuck _happened to you?” Richie blurts before Eddie can start a full on meltdown.

Bill and Stan walk into the store, Stan closing the doors behind them because apparently he still has some sense of propriety even during the end of the world. (Is this the end of the world? Shit.) “We just killed three zombies for you, that's what happened,” Stan says. He's totally deadpan, but somehow manages to sound sassy as fuck at the same time. It's a gift, really. Richie respects it.

“You killed those zombies?” Eddie cuts in, because he's slightly less panicked now that he knows the copious amounts of blood on his friends isn't their own. That's short lived though, since now he knows it's zombie blood. He starts backing away to hide behind Richie. “Wait, wait. Are you contaminated right now? Is that blood -”

Bill shakes his head. “N-no. It's not like - like that.”

Eddie squints at him around Richie. “How the fuck do you know that?”

Stan rolls his eyes. “Those aren't the first zombies we've killed, and we're fine. It's probably transmitted through bites.”

Richie huffs. “So you're saying all this time Eddie’s been stressing out about the hundreds of ways we might get brain rot just for -”

“Actually, there are only nine major ways for infectious diseases to spread, and one of them is sexual transmission, so there were only eight viable ways we might have -”

“Shut up, Eddie,” Richie says. Bill and Stan share a knowing look. “The point is, the apocalypse is just like every shitty zombie horror film ever! I told you my bat was fine.”

“How was I supposed to know that? The only zombie I’d seen was my mom!”

Bill and Stan’s eyes go wide at that. “Your mom is a - zombie?” Bill asks, taking a step closer to Eddie. It takes him a long time to get the “zombie” out. Richie wonders if that's psychological or just his stutter acting up again.

Eddie nods. “Yeah, that's why I went to Richie’s. I didn't really want her to eat me.”

“Understandable,” Stan says. Richie nods.

“What about you guys?” Eddie asks.

Stan quirks an eyebrow. “What about us?”

“Are your families okay?” Richie clarifies.

Stan shrugs. “I don't know. My parents were at the synagogue all day, and I left home because Bill came over. I probably won't see them again either way.” He doesn't sound all that bothered by it. He never did like his parents that much.

Eddie and Richie turn to Bill, who looks like he's about to cry. “Woah, dude, what happened?” Richie says, because he's a master of tact.

Bill swipes at his eyes, taking in a shaky breath. “M-my parents turned first, then they - they -” He cuts himself off, focusing on evening out his breathing for several seconds. “They bit G-g-georgie.”

Eddie and Richie shoot each other a look. “Shit,” is all Richie can say before he's wrapping Bill up in the most comforting hug he can manage. Not that a hug will ever fix this, but maybe it'll make a tiny difference. Richie ignores the way the blood on Bill’s chest squishes into the fabric of his shirt. He doesn't care about the stain anyway.

Eddie and Stan join in, the four of them standing in a huddle while Bill cries some more. They all wish they could help, but there's not really much they can do about his parents eating his little brother’s brain. It's all so fucked up. The apocalypse is such shit.

Eventually Bill wipes his eyes and tells them all he's okay, which is highly debatable and definitely needs to be addressed again at some point, but then Eddie is changing the subject so they don't have to unpack everything right now. (He's probably trying to avoid talking about his mom, too.) “Wait, so what were you guys doing here?” He has a point. If they were at Stan’s house there really isn't much reason they should have come into town to begin with.

Bill smiles, and it's small, but it's there. “We knew - knew you'd be here.” He looks pointedly at the bags of bandages and disinfectant in Eddie’s hands.

“What about me?” Richie asks, because he's starved for attention.

Stan cuts him a look. “We knew you'd be with Eddie.”

Richie doesn't know what to do with that (he does, he’s just not going there right now or ever, probably) and he doesn’t think Stan really wants him to do anything with it to begin with. It's just hanging there between them, just like the knowledge that Stan’s always been acutely aware of Richie’s...situation. Stan will never make Richie talk about it, though. He's a little shit about it, sure, but he isn't one to force anything.

Bill and Eddie are oblivious to this entire silent exchange, and Bill just nods along because yeah, why wouldn't Eddie and Richie be together? Eddie starts complaining about always being stuck with Richie, which of course Richie has to react to, and it starts up another round of bickering. Stan and Bill just let it happen, watching from the sidelines with some weird mix of affection and judgement in their eyes that they've perfected over the years.

Actually, come to think of it, Bill probably knows too. Richie wonders if Stan told him or if he figured it out on his own. (Stan wouldn't tell. Richie doubts Stan and Bill have talked about it at all; they just know.)

Eventually Bill intervenes so Eddie and Richie don't argue in circles for the rest of forever. “What were you guys gonna d-do?”

Eddie and Richie just look at each other, then back at Bill. Richie taps his bat against the tile floor as Eddie answers. “We were gonna look for you guys, actually. We need a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part two will be up in a few days!! the rest of the losers will show up soon don't worry uwu


End file.
